Hunger
by glanmire
Summary: XMFC. Erik, as a rule, doesn't eat much.


Erik, as a rule, doesn't eat much.

Psychologically he really should be eating more, seeing as his whole childhood had been tainted by memories of being cold and afraid and hungry. He should be over-compensating now, buying into that American gluttony and eating at every possible opportunity.

He doesn't.

Charles never mentions it, not for the first few weeks. Erik has his black coffee in the mornings, and as the day goes on the coffee gets replaced by something a little stronger, but there's little else.

"Fancy going out for dinner?" Charles would say, and they'd invariably go somewhere classy, where Charles would flirt with the waiter and proceed to have a starter, main course and sometimes even a dessert. Erik liked to have wine at these meals, but couldn't stomach anything more than a salad.

It was always easy to distract Charles, who was prone to going off on tangents. Ever since Charles had vowed not to read his mind, Erik has noticed that he has got markedly worse at reading Erik. He supposes that Charles has never felt the need to learn how to read body language before, not when he knew everybody's thoughts anyway. Erik carefully gestures with a piece of salad on his fork all night, and when Charles is done eating he throws a napkin over his own plate, leaving the food untouched.

Erik likes to cook. He likes it because it's an outlet where he can really push himself with the metal, be useful with it, and also because it's a convenient excuse.  
Now that there isn't a new city and new mutants to distract him every day Charles is noticing, though he hasn't said anything yet. His blue eyes are often suspicious though, whenever Erik makes his excuses.  
Erik has never had to make excuses to anyone before, and doesn't quite know how he feels about doing it now.

"I've made Wiener Schnitzel," he announces when Charles walks in. Charles does not make a face, in fairness to him, but the unfamiliar name is probably daunting. The kids are not so good at hiding their apprehension, but Erik appreciates their bravery in trying it anyway. German food is all he knows how to cook, for the moment at least.

"Veal?" Raven asks, taking the body of a popular food-critic. She insists that different senses are stronger in various bodies, and although it makes sense logically, Charles and Hank believe that Raven's own self transfers across; so if she got shot, changing her body won't heal the wound. By that logic they saw her tastebuds shouldn't be better now either. It's an interesting topic, and everyone is too busy arguing to notice Erik not touching his food- which is normally the case in this madhouse.

_It's delicious Erik, _Charles projects at him. There's a question implied there too; won't you have some? Erik ignores it.

_I ate as I was cooking_, he thinks, but he's no longer sure if anyone believes it.

It's only a few days later when he realises that Charles has been pushing him extra hard, thinking perhaps if he burns enough calories he'll be hungry enough to eat. Erik has hopes too; when he moves the satellite dish he can feel the strain, a burn in his muscles that he's never had from just exercise. He thinks _maybe this will be enough, _though he says nothing out loud.

Charles has already fed the children that night when Erik comes back from his shower.

"I made _sauerbraten_," Charles says at Erik's look, obviously pronouncing it with care.

"That takes 6-8 hours?" Erik asks, even though it should be a statement, not a question.

"Ahh yes, well it wasn't too difficult, I just let it simmer away here."  
Charles looks away from Erik's gaze. This is his way of trying, Erik knows, and it bites at him far worse than the hunger ever has. He hasn't had someone who _cares_ for so long that it doesn't seem right, it doesn't feel like he deserves it.

He wants to say _I'll have mine later if you don't mind, _but he can't. He doesn't like feeling trapped and yet he does, somehow, even though Charles is only trying to help.

Charles gives him a small portion - _like he would a child- _Erik thinks, and they sit. Charles has waited to have his too, and they have a glass of wine and if circumstances were different Erik might see this a whole lot differently, _extra special dinner, children gone, glass of wine. _All they need now is the candles.

He shouldn't have thought of candles. The happy memory burns at him; he had lost something he had forgotten he had all over again.

For all his powers, Charles is only human, and Erik knows that his friend likes things to be neat, and for people to react like he expects them too. In Charles' mind the problem is now under control; Erik wouldn't eat, so I made him exercise and cooked him German food. Simple.

Except it isn't.

He tries, for both their sake's, and the first spoonful of sauce is delicious but he swallows it as if it were a tablet, catching in his throat.

Charles probably doesn't mean to but he's staring, and Erik is glad at least that Charles had the foresight to send the kids away before they had this discussion.

Erik contemplates the plate again. There's just so much, another thousand small painful bites like this one and he's not hungry and he can't do it-

"Erik," Charles says, putting his hand over Erik's. Erik realises that the knives were rattling in the drawer and the overhead bulb was swinging like mad. It was Shaw's room all over again- _he had been so hungry and Shaw had offered him chocolate and then had his men shoot his mother in the stomach; he can still smell it now, how her insides and innards reeked before they pulled her out of the room. The chocolate melted slowly on the table, oozing like blood as metal whipped through the air and his mother was dead and he was just so hungry and scared- _

Charles pushes himself into Erik's mind. He hears the gentle voice say _It's alright Erik, it's okay, I'm here, come on, let's relax now, that's it, nice and easy does it. _

He sees the kitchen but does not understand what he sees. There are things strewn everywhere, cutlery and pots twisted into unnatural shapes, leering at him. His breaths are ragged and he's half-aware of Charles guiding him to the study, to the children being there for a moment- _yes he's fine, if you could just give us some space - _and they were gone again, like ghosts -_ Raven I'm sorry but could you clean up the kitchen? He wouldn't want the others to see and I'd better stay with him- _and then she was gone too-

He is embarrassed when he comes to. He's had panic attacks before - once he'd nearly killed 800 innocents on a plane- but they were strangers and more likely to believe _asthma attack and severe turbulence _than _this man's fear is going to crash the plane. _

He does not think Charles will buy 'turbulence' as an excuse.  
But Charles says nothing other than to offer a game of chess, and the pressure in Erik's chest eases a little. Later Raven comes by with hot whiskeys for the two of them and a plate of biscuits. He drinks the whiskey and manages two small dry biscuits, and Charles says nothing but his smile says it all, and Erik can hope too, and he does.

But on the beach in Cuba, the only person who has ever _cared _since Erik's mother ends up shot, and it is Erik's fault again. This time he moved the coin, but it was not good enough. It is still his fault.

He leaves with his new allies, leaves Charles broken and bleeding and Erik is broken inside too.

They stop that night somewhere, who knows where they are anymore, anywhere but Cuba, and Magneto - for that is who he is now- drinks. He drinks and drinks until he cannot see Charles bleeding into the sand before him, but he does not eat. He does not think he will ever want to eat again.


End file.
